


Come Hell Or High Water

by Ribbons_Undone



Series: Dream World [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25057123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone
Summary: Dean’s been acting strange, and Sam is determined to figure out what’s wrong. He calls in some backup to help.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Dream World [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784737
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	Come Hell Or High Water

* * *

_We are such stuff  
As dreams are made on, and our little life  
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;  
Bear with my weakness; my brain is troubled:  
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:  
If you be pleased, retire into my cell  
And there repose: a turn or two I'll walk,  
To still my beating mind._

\-- Excerpt from _The Tempest, Act IV Scene I_ by William Shakespeare

* * *

_Come Hell or High Water_

They tricked him.

Sam made up some excuse that Bobby was in trouble and needed their help _asap_ and Dean, gullible as ever had driven two full days worrying like hell to find it was all just a ruse to get him here. As soon as he stepped through Bobby’s front door, Sam grabbed him by the arms and forced him into the living room, holding him down while Bobby tied him to a chair that was set inside a devil’s trap.

Now the pair looked down at him, impassive but for the lines of worry on Sam’s brow and the clenching and unclenching of Bobby’s jaw. Dean struggled against the ropes binding him to no avail—when Bobby Singer tied a knot, it was for keeps.

“Guys, you want to explain what the hell this is about?” Dean demanded, gesturing to his restraints.

“You’ve been acting strange, Dean,” Sam said, sharing a look with Bobby, “We’re worried about you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Dean insisted. He knew what they were on about. His odd behavior—the fact that in the past few weeks he would do just about anything to catch a few extra winks. But that didn’t mean he was _possessed_.

Before he could tell them that, Bobby flung a flask-full of holy water in his face, so now Dean was soaked _and_ pissed. He sputtered and spit out the stale-tasting water.

“So, not a demon then,” Bobby concluded, putting the flask away.

“Glad we’ve cleared that up,” Dean snapped at him.

Sam stepped forward with a knife.

“Oh come on.” Dean scoffed and shook his head. “Seriously? I’m not a freaking _shifter_ , Sam! Or a Djinn, or a—whatever the hell you think I am!”

“Then this should only hurt a little,” Sam said. He stepped closer, repositioning his hand around the hilt of the silver knife. “Sorry, you know how it is.”

Dean growled at him to show his displeasure, and considering his circumstances, maybe that wasn’t the best call.

Sam took a deep breath and pressed the blade into Dean’s forearm, causing a red line of blood to spring up in the shallow wound. Dean sucked in his breath, and Sam for his part at least looked apologetic when there wasn’t a reaction.

“So you were telling the truth about that at least,” Sam said. He wiped off the knife and tossed it to the table, then grabbed a roll of bandages to patch up his handiwork. It was a good thing Dean was tied to the chair, because if he wasn’t he would have punched Sam in the nose. Bobby too, probably.

“First time for everything I suppose,” Bobby said. He shifted his weight from where he was leaned up against the table with his arms crossed and gave Dean a pointed stare.

“Fuck you,” Dean snapped at him.

“So what do you think. Witches?” Sam asked, looking back at Bobby. Both of them ignored Dean’s colorful outburst.

“Oh please.” Dean scoffed at them. This was getting ridiculous. Maybe he’d been acting a little strange lately, but not _that_ strange. Honestly, they were overreacting. “Can’t a guy enjoy his fucking beauty sleep anymore?”

“This is about more than just sleeping, and you know it,” Bobby said, “Sam here says you’ve been dreaming.”

“And since when is that a crime?” Dean retorted. “Ever think they could be good dreams?”

“Sorry, Dean, but we have to be sure,” Sam said, “This isn’t like you. What if something has its teeth in you and it’s luring you out through your subconscious?”

Someone _did_ have his…well, it wasn’t teeth, but that was beside the point.

“I’m telling you, it’s not like that,” Dean said, frustrated. “Damnit, why can’t you just believe me for once?”

“If something has you, how would you even know, idjit?” Bobby remarked.

“Because I _know_ ,” Dean replied, unhelpful to say the least because it was clear the two weren’t buying it.

“Well, would you care to _enlighten_ us, cupcake?” Bobby replied.

Dean opened his mouth, hesitating. He knew he should tell them the truth, but he wasn’t ready to—for more than one reason, but mostly because they were making such a big fucking deal of it.

Apparently he took too long to answer, because in the next moment his younger brother was looking up at the ceiling and calling just about the last person Dean wanted to see right now.

“Cas? You there? Could really use your help, man.”

“Oh Christ, no,” Dean swore.

Castiel popped almost immediately into the room.

The angel looked around the small living area at the three hunters, starting with Sam and Bobby and ending with Dean. He quirked an eyebrow at Dean’s current predicament.

“Why was I summoned here?” Castiel asked. He sent Dean a questioning look.

“These two _morons_ think some kind of dream-demon has its grips in me,” Dean bit out angrily.

Castiel’s eyes widened a little at that and Dean gave him the slightest shake of his head.

“We’ve done all the usual tests but we haven’t found anything,” Sam said, missing the exchange.

Bobby, however, didn’t. The older hunter narrowed his eyes at Cas.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything, would you?” Bobby asked, pinning Castiel down with a hard stare.

Cas, however, was not so easily intimidated.

“No, I’m afraid not. I assume you have a theory?” Cas turned to Sam, directing the question at him. He was fishing, Dean noted, and had to give the angel credit for his cunning. Bobby grunted, seeming unconvinced by Cas’s answer but thankfully did not press the issue further.

“We’re thinking it could be witches, but there hasn’t been any trace of spell work, and no hex bags that I could find. But something is off,” Sam replied.

Sam proceeded to explain Dean’s strange behavior over the past few weeks. Bobby just listened, chiming in with his expertise where it was needed.

“I see…” Cas said as Sam finished with the shortlist of what he suspected might be wrong. “I can understand how this might be cause for alarm.”

“So will you help him? Check him out, find what’s wrong?” Sam implored the angel.

The corner of Cas’s lip twitched upward in the most imperceptible of smiles at his wording.

Dean tried not to think of the implications of his situation, or of the intensity in Cas’s eyes as they gazed down at him. He was tied to a chair and Cas was here to _doctor_ him about his dreams. The memory of their last go together flooded into the forefront of his mind, sending a pulse of blood down south. _Oh boy_ was he in trouble.

“I will see what I can do,” Cas was saying.

He stepped up to Dean, and Dean’s whole body went tense. When he caught the amusement in Cas’s eye, Dean glared at him in a way that clearly said _don’t you fucking dare._

Cas ignored this and bent down to examine him.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded as the angel gripped his chin in delicate fingers and turned his head from side to side, pretending to check him for any signs of witchcraft or other supernatural activity. What he was really doing was driving Dean crazy with his long, white neck exposed tantalizingly close to Dean’s mouth and his tie drooping down between them to fall innocently into his lap. When his face leaned in closer to him, Dean gulped.

“P-personal space, Cas,” he grated out, leaning as far back as he could in his current position. There was a telltale twinkle in the angel’s eyes. _Dick_. Dean wished Cas could hear his thoughts in this world as well, but he supposed the glare he was shooting Cas would have to suffice.

Finally Cas stepped back, and Dean let out the breath he’d been holding.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with him,” Cas announced.

“And the dreams?” Sam asked.

“It could be nothing,” Cas replied, “but I should enter his dreams to be sure.”

“No! Cas, I’m telling you, there’s nothing to see. It’s all gumballs and lemon drops in there. _Lemon drops_ , Cas. I mean it.” Dean glared at him so he would take the hint and saw the recognition flit across his face.

“It would be remiss of me not to,” Cas replied, regardless.

“Cas, don’t you fucking dare!” Dean blurted, aloud this time. _Damnit_ , but he was enjoying every minute of this!

“This could be…unpleasant,” the angel said.

“Cas!”

“Hold still.”

Cas stepped up to him and placed two fingers at his forehead, putting Dean to sleep. He then disappeared in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes. He was standing on the shore of the lake. For once his serene dream world was stormy, the clouds rolling overhead a deep purple-gray. The wind was whipping in his face and the deep blue water looked almost black. Whitecaps crested over its choppy surface as the wind beat across it.

Cas appeared by his shoulder. The wind instantly whipped his long tan raincoat out behind him. Dean turned, angry and upset with the angel.

“What the hell was that!?” he demanded, stepping in close so that Cas could hear him over the wind. “Look, if you’re pissed at me for last time, it wasn’t my fault. Sam practically beat me awake.”

“That isn’t it,” Cas replied. “I assumed something like that must have happened.”

“Then what is it?” Dean demanded. Cas looked away, seeming troubled.

“We needed a place where we could speak privately,” Cas replied.

“Then zap me into an empty field—why the hell did we have to come here?” Dean yelled back.

“Because this is where we always come,” Cas answered simply.

Dean couldn’t very well argue with that one.

“So? What did you want to talk about?” Dean asked.

Castiel leveled a look at him.

“You need to tell Sam and Bobby what’s going on, Dean,” he said. “It can’t come from me.”

“I don’t need to do anything,” Dean bit back. He was being an ass, but at the moment he didn’t care. “Why can’t you just leave it be? Things are good the way they are!”

Dean held his breath, the fear that Castiel may not share the same view gripping him out of nowhere. The wind whipped around them, beating into them with a thousand angry fists.

“Dean, you need to calm down,” Cas said, “This storm is getting worse.”

“I’ll calm down when I’m good and fucking ready to—”

A strong gust of wind knocked into them, pushing Dean into Cas. Castiel’s strong hands caught him and held him close as they waited—heads bowed—for it to pass.

“This storm is of your creation,” Cas said once it had, “This is your dream, Dean—your world to control.”

“Yeah, well—” Dean was about to bite out a scathing remark, but then he grasped what Cas was saying. “Wait, what?”

“You are in turmoil, your emotions a tempest,” Cas explained. “Sam and Bobby may have stirred up the storm, but only you can control it.”

“I…okay.” No matter how angry he was, self-preservation came first, and the last thing he wanted was to actually harm Cas. Dean took a deep breath. The wind died down a notch, but the storm overhead roiled on. He felt the panic setting in. “How do I stop it?”

Cas cupped his face in his hands and kissed him softly. The wind settled an inch more.

“I believe if you face that which you have been avoiding, the storm will break,” Cas replied when he pulled away, “And then you can wake up and explain to your brother and Bobby what we have been doing here.”

“But I…” Dean swallowed painfully. “What if I’m not ready?”

Cas looked at him with sad, gentle eyes. They were a darker blue than Dean was used to seeing without the sun shining in them.

“Readiness is an illusion,” Castiel said, “and an excuse for procrastination.”

“Says who, Yoda?” Dean snorted, but he caught Cas’s meaning. His heart sped up at what the angel was suggesting, and the wind whipped up around them with renewed strength.

Cas kissed him again, the action calming Dean to his core. The wind dropped away for a long moment as they stood on the shore, lips and tongues dancing in the eye of the storm.

“How are you doing that?” Dean asked when he pulled back, inhaling deeply the sharp scents of pine needles and oncoming rain.

“I am not the one controlling the storm,” Cas reminded him.

“I know, I know,” Dean said, annoyed. “God, this is such a fucking chick-flick.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Castiel said, letting go of him, “Feelings are not…of one gender or another.”

“I am _literally_ creating a bitch-storm right now, Cas,” Dean pointed out. He growled, frustrated, stalked away and then paced back, running a hand through his hair. Cas just watched him calmly.

“It is only your conflict with your feelings which creates the storm, not the feelings themselves,” Castiel said.

Dean stopped and frowned at him.

“Like I said, chick-flick.”

Cas sighed. Trying to get Dean to face his true feelings was much like his mission to get him to believe in God. If he had learned anything about his complicated, infuriating human, it was that he wasn’t to be pushed into doing anything.

“We should go. This storm will only get worse,” Cas said, stepping away. “I can make up an excuse for Bobby and Sam.”

The wind instantly picked up again and a few biting drops of rain fell sideways into their faces.

“Wait—Cas!” Dean caught his arm. “I’m sorry, okay? I suck at this shit.”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas replied curtly. “I understand. You do not need to explain it to me.”

“It’s not fine.” Dean dipped his head, afraid to look Castiel in the eyes. “I lied, okay? When I said I wasn’t the type to…” he broke off, swallowing against the words.

“Dean,” Cas said in a low voice.

The rain spat at them in intervals, the storm not yet close enough for a full downpour—these were just the edges of the curtain blowing in across the sky. Dean drew a breath.

“Don’t leave me, Cas,” Dean begged him, his voice breaking. About them, the rain started to fall, gentle and soft at its onset but quickly picking up momentum. “I need you. Just how much scares me, and I need you to know—” Again he broke off, unable to say it.

“Dean,” Cas said again. The angel lifted his face in his hands once more and gazed into swirling green eyes. “I know. But I am…sorry. I cannot indulge this fantasy of yours any longer. It isn’t healthy, Dean. You are becoming far too addicted to this place.”

“I don’t care, Cas,” Dean said.

“I do.” Cas let out a little sigh and let go of him, but did not move away. “I want more, Dean,” he admitted in a low voice. “I thought I could be satisfied with these dreams we have been sharing, but it is not enough. I want you. The real you.”

Dean opened his mouth, his jaw working wordlessly for a moment before he found traction.

“It would never work,” Dean insisted, “The lives we live? The shit we deal with on a day-to-day basis? It wouldn’t last in the real world.”

“If that is how you feel,” Cas said, dropping his gaze, “Then there is nothing more for us to discuss.”

“It’s not—it’s the way it is, Cas, there’s a difference,” Dean argued, “You said you didn’t expect anything from me, well—now you’re expecting too much.”

“I did say that,” Castiel admitted. “but expectation is different from desire, Dean. I cannot help what I want, and I don’t expect you to change but I cannot ignore what I have seen here today. It would not be fair to either of us.”

“So now what I want doesn’t matter at all?” Dean bit back, “This naïve ‘we can make it’ attitude is bullshit, Cas,” he continued harshly, “You don’t know how it is because you haven’t lived it as long as I have. Trust me when I say the white picket fence—it’s not made for people like us. We’ve got to take what we can get where we can get it—and who gives a shit if it’s real or not because it’s the only way we can find a shred of happiness in this life.”

“That is where I disagree,” Cas replied, “God wants happiness for all his children—who we are and what we do does not matter to Him.”

Dean scoffed, and Cas shot him a look.

“You may not believe, Dean, but I do.” Castiel stared out over the water, his eyes squinted against the wind which had picked up around them. He glanced up at the storm clouds rolling overhead. It looked like it would start pouring any second. “I think it is time we return to the real world.”

“Cas, wait,” Dean said, reaching out for him, “Don’t end it like this, Cas, please. I still want you. Maybe not in the same way but it’s—that’s got to count for something.”

It was a last-ditch effort and the plea in his voice made him sound pathetic, but he was desperate.

Castiel shook his head.

“I am sorry, Dean.”

Before Dean could argue with him further, Cas placed his fingers on his forehead and woke him from the dream.

* * *

Dean came to with a gasp, straining against the bonds holding him to the chair. He looked up at Cas with pain in his eyes as Cas bent down to untie him.

“Well? What did you find out?” Sam asked impatiently, stepping forward.

“There is nothing wrong with him,” Cas replied, and somehow Dean felt that the words weren’t just for Sam and Bobby. “They are just dreams. I suspect he has been pushing himself too hard lately.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Sam blurted.

The angel nodded solemnly. He seemed tired, his shoulders drooping against a weight that hadn’t been there before. He gave Dean one last long, sad look before turning away.

“Cas—” Dean started.

“I must go.”

“Wait, Cas!” Dean began again, but Cas was already gone. An acute sense of loss overtook him.

Dean slumped against the chair and let out a frustrated sound. He felt angry and upset—at Sam and Bobby, at Castiel—but mostly at himself. Dean ran a hand through his hair.

“Fucking typical,” he growled. He clambered to his feet. “Next time you want to help me, do me a favor and _don’t_ ,” he snapped at Sam and Bobby. He stormed from the house, slamming the door behind him.

Inside his heart, the tempest raged on.

* * *

_Here's neither bush nor shrub, to bear off_ _  
any weather at all, and another storm brewing;  
I hear it sing i' the wind: yond same black  
cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul  
bombard that would shed his liquor. If it  
should thunder as it did before, I know not  
where to hide my head: yond same cloud cannot  
choose but fall by pailfuls. _

**Author's Note:**

> A/n: 
> 
> As promised, something different from the last few installments. Lots of angst in this and honestly when I started writing this part I wasn’t expecting it to end the way it does. I agonized over this until I was happy with it and must have changed it a dozen times or more, so I hope you all like it. ;)


End file.
